


Loving Kindness

by SennyriNamis23



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Diplomatic Hawke, Established Relationship, M/M, Mage Hawke - Freeform, but mostly this is about the comforting afterwards let's be real here, but we all know how fenris establishes that relationship, fenris gets beats up and his wizard bf helps, magical wound healing, sometime between act 2 and 3, the violence is less graphic and more... specific
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennyriNamis23/pseuds/SennyriNamis23
Summary: In the middle of the night, Fenris decided to go fight a ring of slavers by himself. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he doesn't come out of this encounter unscathed. He goes to the one person, the one mage, he knows he can trust.Emmanuel Hawke is, at first glance, everything Fenris is not: gentle, patient, trusting, and an apostate mage. Most days, Fenris is surprised to find that anyone could be as patient with him, could care so much about him. And yet...
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Loving Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> no beta we post like irrational bastards!

Fenris swung his greatsword one last time, driving its blade deep into the flesh of the final standing slaver. The bones crunched under the weight of his blow, and blood pooled around his feet.

He wasn’t sure if it was his blood or the slavers’.

He looked up at the moon with the beginnings of a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. There were few better reasons to trek to the docks in the middle of the night than to hunt slavers. Even without being tied to Danarius, Fenris slept a little better each time he fought and killed a group of them.

He gave a little sigh to no one in particular, “And we live another day.”

He wiped his brow, unsure if he was wiping sweat or blood across his forehead. He shuddered as a pain shot from his shoulder to his wrist. He ran his other hand over the offending shoulder, finding an arrow protruding from it. With a quiet grunt, he snapped the shaft and discarded it to the side. He knew he was injured, he’d felt a handful of blows reach his skin. But how badly? He tried not to think about it.

He just needed to get home, to wash off, to assess the damage. Just one step at a time.

Fenris had always been methodical - it was one of the things Danarius valued about him. He never rushed into a fight, to place blame, to conclusions. Keeping the company he did now, perhaps he’d become a little impulsive at times, but that training was hard to shake off. It served him well enough these last years.

He reached the stairs that ascended to Hightown and leaned against the wall, greatsword resting in one hand with the tip to the ground. His breaths were ragged; he wheezed painful exhalations as he tried to catch his breath again.

_Venhedis._

He reached to his chest with his hand, felt his armor cracked and dented and pressing into his skin. It would have to be replaced.

The stairs would not be kind, but he took them as he did everything: one step at a time. Halfway up, his head started to spin and he had to lean against the wall again to keep from falling. On impact, his injured shoulder protested. Fenris gritted his teeth and breathed slowly for a long moment before beginning the long journey again.

Something clanged against the stairs, making him shudder as the noise reverberated through his pounding skull. He pressed his uninjured hand against his temple in a futile attempt to stop the pain. It didn’t, and after a moment he started again, withdrawing his hand to his side, and definitely noticing the red on his fingers.

If he’d had energy to spare he would have sworn again.

The blood and pain were starting to cloud his vision. But he knew where he was even without sight. The merchants’ quarter was abandoned in the nighttime, stalls emptied with only their husks remaining. He stopped at the bottom of the next set of stairs, putting his good hand to his head again, breathing heavily. The mansion wasn’t terribly far. But his legs were beginning to betray him, wobbling beneath him as he stood.

One word, one name, made it to his lips in a raspy whisper: _Hawke_.

He groaned at the thought of asking Emmanuel for his help, of waking him at such an hour, of imposing on him and his abilities. But he didn’t have a lot of choice. He either went to Emmanuel and lived, or went home and died.

He was surprised to find himself wanting to live.

With eyes clenched shut, he ascended yet again. Each step slower, heavier than the last. Exhaustion settling on his shoulders like an anvil. Head pounding violently. Legs shaking beneath him. Feet numb and cold. Hands trembling.

He reached the top and nearly toppled over down them, only saved by the railing beside him and a convenient gust of wind that pushed him upright again.

Reaching out with bloodied fingers, he dragged them across the walls as he continued, counting his steps and his breaths to keep from collapsing. After a long moment, he opened his eyes again, barely making out the estate on his left to be his destination. A dozen more arduous steps and he stood in front of the door.

Then, hands on his. Large, gentle, calloused hands held his uninjured one and splayed across his back. His arm was thrown over broad shoulders, brushing against a coarse beard. The last thing Fenris remembered before consciousness slipped from him was Emmanuel Hawke, smelling of clean soap and lyrium, squeezing his hand comfortingly.

\---

“Good morning,” a voice beside him called. Deep, gentle, quiet.

Fenris groaned without opening his eyes, “Is it?”

Emmanuel chuckled under his breath, “Morning? Yes, actually. A little bit after dawn.”

He grunted in reply, becoming more and more aware with every second of just how much his body ached. His injured head and shoulder were the greatest offenders, but even his arms and legs ached from exertion. His markings tingled with lingering magic - likely Emmanuel’s healing magic from the night before.

He also realized his armor had been discarded, replaced with a soft pair of lounge pants from Hawke’s closet.

Emmanuel sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Fenris’ hair, pushing it out of his face. It wouldn’t stay that way, of course, but it was endearing that he would try.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice laden with concern now.

“Well, I can breathe again, which is a marked improvement,” he admitted, looking anywhere but in Emmanuel’s emerald eyes.

He hummed noncommittally, then continued, running his hands down Fenris’ arm to hold his hand, “What’s hurting you most?”

Fenris shook his head, “You don’t need to do any more, Hawke. You’ve already saved my life twice now, you don’t need to care for my every ache and pain.”

Emmanuel blinked slowly, the only sign that he’d stayed up through the night to care for him. And then, a smile, “That’s not what I asked, Fenris.”

He winced at the gentle chastisement, but didn’t answer immediately. Emmanuel didn’t rush him, holding his hand and rubbing his thumb over Fenris’ knuckles.

Venhedis, how did he continue to be so kind? After all the torment Fenris himself had put him through? Never able to decide what he wanted, what he was comfortable with. Always vacillating between repulsed, greedy, infatuated, and ashamed. He knew he needed Emmanuel Hawke in his life, but to what extent? He still hadn’t figured it out. He’d walked out on Emmanuel without much of an explanation, apologizing without saying anything. And yet, Hawke remained. Endlessly patient. Unnecessarily kind.

With a sigh, Fenris muttered, “Everything hurts. But if pressed, I suppose the shoulder and head wounds trouble me most.”

Emmanuel nodded, “Okay. Are you alright if I use magic to help?”

He furrowed his brows, “You already used magic to heal me, why are you asking now?”

He shrugged, “Well, you couldn’t exactly consent one way or another last time. I did what I needed to keep you alive. But you’re awake and alert now. And I know how you feel about magic, particularly when it’s near your lyrium markings. If you would be more comfortable, I can grab some elfroot to ease your pain instead.”

Fenris exhaled irritably. Of course Hawke was concerned about his comfort. He hadn’t ever been shy about his distrust of magic, even when the user’s intentions were good. He hadn’t been particularly subtle about it, either, even knowing the good both Emmanuel and Anders did with it.

“Perhaps… you could use it on the shoulder,” he replied slowly, “but I think I would rather not risk magic near my head.”

Hawke nodded without judgement or reprisal. Fenris knew that his magic was safe, that Emmanuel wouldn’t hurt him. But the old, irrational doubt and fear lingered.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Emmanuel said, his hands lighting up a pale blue as mana manifested.

Fenris nodded, grimacing in anticipation.

Emmanuel’s hands touched him gently, cautiously feeding healing magic through his skin. Fenris tensed at first, unused to the feel of it; Hawke had always been hesitant to use magic around him at all, for fear of upsetting him. Even now he showed restraint, slowly working the magic through his injury, feeling like a drizzle of rain against the lyrium markings. They tingled in the close presence of magic, just like they always did, but they didn’t pain him.

“Does it hurt?” Hawke asked.

Fenris shook his head, “No, the sensation is just… odd.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

He thought for a long moment, torn between two diametrically opposed reactions. The first being that he needed to take any out possible - magic was _dangerous and unstable_ , and the longer Emmanuel used it, the more unstable it became. The second reaction was that he needed Hawke to keep touching him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed Emmanuel’s comforting hands on him. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed Hawke to touch him, to reassure him he was worth something.

“Fenris?” Emmanuel paused, his magic slowly retreating back into him.

“Don’t stop.”

The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to catch them.

Hawke hesitated, but when Fenris didn’t renege, he allowed magic to flow from his hands once again. Gentle drizzles of magic wound their way through his shoulder and arm, soft tendrils wrapping around his pain and taking it from him. It pulsed slowly, following Emmanuel’s inhales and exhales.

A streak of pain seared across his head and he winced.

Emmanuel stopped, squeezing his hand for a moment before he stood. He kept dried elfroot on the desk, and Fenris tracked him with his eyes as he wandered around the bed to the table and back. His steps hardly made a sound, bare feet stepping with purpose and caution.

He came back with a handful of elfroot and a small draught of water, setting them on the bedside table.

“Let me help you sit up,” Hawke said, leaning down so Fenris could throw his good arm over his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around his back, splaying his palm wide. Fenris could feel the muscles in his back tense at the touch, and he willed them to relax again. Emmanuel was trustworthy. He was safe.

“Alright, on the count of three, push up the bed, okay?”

Fenris nodded, head buried in Hawke’s shoulder.

“One, two, three, _hrrumph_.”

It wasn’t a particularly graceful process, but after a few seconds, Fenris was more or less sitting upright against the headboard of the bed, his head pounding more than it had been before.

But again, Emmanuel was there to the rescue, gently pushing the elfroot and water into his hands.

He took them both, swallowing without thinking, “I think that’s enough for one day.”

Hawke smiled, hands twitching in his lap like he was holding them back.

Fenris put a hand on his forearm, “Thank you, Hawke.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he replied, leaning a bit forward to press their foreheads together.

Fenris still found himself afraid of his own feelings most days. He still wasn’t sure if he would be comfortable kissing Emmanuel or making love with him. Even now, his markings vibrated against his skin. But Emmanuel was _good_. More than that, he was comforting. His presence alone made Fenris feel bolder, braver, stronger. He may never be good enough to deserve a partner like Emmanuel Hawke, but he would spend his days trying to be.


End file.
